


twenty hours to seeing you

by twenty_committee



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Developing Relationship, Dreams and Nightmares, Driving, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Hotels, Internal Conflict, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Road Trips, Sharing a Bed, Sleeping on call, Slow Burn, Stargazing, meeting up, someone has to write a roadtrip by dream ft. pmbata inspired fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:49:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29573454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twenty_committee/pseuds/twenty_committee
Summary: George finally comes to America and it's everything Dream wants and more. There's an old red van, bad hotels, American food, and endless sunny roads on the long drive between the airport and home. And George, who finds his way into his dreams and his life, past and present and future in a way Dream thinks he might fall in love with.Inspired by Roadtrip by Dream ft. PmBata
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 50





	twenty hours to seeing you

**Author's Note:**

> Don't push relationships on people. Be respectful.
> 
> Someone had to write the fic inspired by Roadtrip and it's me.

_The rush of hot pavement beneath his tires, a tidal wave building in his head, the golden sun sinking beneath the horizon_ -

'-think he fell asleep.'

Dream barely hears the words, eyes squinted against the bright light from his screen and the memory of the sun in his eyes. His mouth tastes terrible and his shirt is clinging to the small of his back with sweat. His fan lazily circles above him, doing nothing to chase away the heat that’s crept in.

'Dream?' George asks again, and he blinks, pushing himself up on his desk. His skin sticks to the wood, and he grimaces, leaning up to open the small window. His recording room is hot and still as summertime.

The cool air is a relief and makes goosebumps rise on his forearms. He slumps back down at his desk with the wind playing in his hair and ghosting across the back of his neck, the breeze not enough to break the stillness.

'I'm awake.' He drags his hand over his face, willing the hint of wind to chase away the echoes of his dream. On screen, George grins and keeps playing. 

'I thought you'd fallen asleep,' Sapnap says. 

'I did.'

'Dream is falling asleep while I'm live,' George teases. 'Is my stream not exciting enough for you?'

His lips twitch up. 'Nah. I'd rather watch Sap.'

George rolls his eyes on screen and Sapnap laughs. 

'Dream wouldn't fall asleep on _my_ stream,' he brags.

'It's his own fault, too.' The heat has a tendency to make his tongue loose, encouraged by the chat flashing past in the corner of his vision. 'Chat, George made me stay up late on call with him.'

George's eyes crinkle with a smile. 'Chat, Dream is trying to be on my sleep schedule. _He_ was the one who made me stay up.'

 _'George_ ,' Dream teases, unable to keep from grinning. 'Did you ever think that it's easier to record with you when you don't sleep through the whole thing?'

The chat spams about George sleeping through the plot on the SMP, and Dream rests his head back on the desk, indulgent and satisfied.

'You're _such_ an idiot.' George's attempt at an exasperated voice is impossibly warm.

Dream props his chin on his forearms, eyes drifting shut again. As much as he wants to align their schedules, the odd hours are getting to him, and it's only been two days. George's keyboard clatters on in his ears. The noises of the stream whisper on in the background. He watches George through his eyelashes, watches him talk and smile for the camera, answering donations. The fan spins overhead, droning lowly. Dream's eyes prickle with exhaustion. The heat sits all around him, heavy and thick, making every movement slow.

 _'Dream Team meetup when,'_ Sapnap reads. 'As soon as George decides to come to America.'

Dream lifts his head from where he's propped it on his forearms. 'Yeah, George. When are you gonna fly over and see us?'

'I thought you'd fallen asleep again,' George says. 

'Nope.' Dream yawns, popping his jaw. 'You should come over.'

George keeps clicking. 'Thanks for the tier two subs. Maybe.'

'I could drive down to you,' Sapnap adds. 'You could go pick him up from the airport. We'd meet at your place.'

Dream sits up, the cool air ruffling his hair. The idea catches him in the heavy warm haze and holds on. 

'I could do that,' Dream agrees. 'George?'

George's gaze flickers to the camera, searching the frame for a second before it drops away, focusing back on the game. 

'It's been a long time since I've been on any kind of road trip.'

His voice is politely blank. Dream can read George like nobody else, and he feels like that he's crossed some kind of boundary, even if he doesn't know what or how he did.

'Me too. I haven't been driving like that in a long time.' Uneasiness makes him shift in his chair, and his dream presses in at the edges of his thoughts. He chooses his words carefully, trying to keep his words cordial rather than intimate. 'I could do it again. If you wanted.'

George's expression is neutral. 'A road trip would be an interesting experience.'

He turns his attention back to his stream, and Dream lets out a frustrated breath. George always feels like he's one step too far away, always keeping Dream at a careful distance.

'Maybe one day,' George says carelessly. Dream sits back in his chair. The flickering light of the stream wash across his face.

George is so frustrating, so _fascinating_ , so confusing, and Dream never knows exactly what to expect from him. He hates that, and he loves it at the same time.

'I used to dream about road trips.'

'What do you dream about now?'

 _Why are you asking, what do you want?_ The scene rushes through him in an instant, poised on the edge of the sun and sky, always on the brink of falling in. There is so much crowding his head, but for that moment all of it feels like George.

'The interstates. Always the same stretch of them.' 

'What's it like?' George asks interestedly.

'It's nothing special. I forgot you don't drive.' Dream traces circles on his desk, trying to ground himself in the dark hot room instead of the bright interstate. He's raced along that road in his head dozens of times, and the sun and sky and road is bright in the darkness behind his eyelids. 

'Well?' he urges.

'It's summertime in my dream. It's hot, and the sun is setting.' He forces a laugh. 'Nothing interesting.'

'I thought you'd have better dreams, considering your name,' George teases.

'I dream of you,' he shoots back without thinking, and sees George's eyes widen before the mask comes back down over his face, polished and flawless when Dream knows better. He _should_ know better today. The suffocating pressure of his dream is getting to him.

Walking that line between what they mean and what they don't is harder on stream, when there are no second chances and every word is in real time. George trusts Dream to walk on the safe side, even if they both toe the line. He should take that step back again, keep his distance, keep his words casual. He doesn't.

'You don't.'

'I do.' Dream leans closer to the screen, so close he imagines he can taste the static and the sun. 'Do you ever dream of me?'

There's something about the idea of George in real life that blurs their hazy borders even further. George trusts Dream, and Dream trusts George to tell him when he goes too far, when he flies a little too close to the sun. That's their dance, that Dream croons and teases and tells him secrets in the dark, and sometimes, sometimes George breaks-

'What if I do?'

The chat races. Dream can barely see it. He can see nothing but George like the sun in the dark room, gaze drawn to the flutter of his dark eyelashes. His heart is loud in his ears.

'You dream about me?' he repeats, unable to believe it.

'I dream of what you might look like,' he says. His teeth dig into his lower lip, and then he grins at the camera like a snakebite. With the light of his lamp it's hard to tell, but Dream thinks his cheeks are red. 'Maybe I'd stop having to imagine if you showed me.'

'Why would I, then?' Dream hears himself say.

He raises his eyes to the camera and for no more than a heartbeat, Dream catches a flare of emotion in his expression.

'Don't blame me for wanting to know you, Dream,' he says, before he ushers the stream on, polished and careless once again.

The atmosphere is prickling like the crackling metal of cars driven too hard, too far. Dream mutes his mic and throws himself back in his chair, hand in his hair, skin sticking to the leather of his chair. 

_'George_ ,' he whispers. The fan spins above him.

He watches George and Sapnap banter, their conversation easy as waves lapping on the beach. He's tired, but he doesn't think he could fall asleep anymore. He unmutes after a while, adds his comments slowly, and nobody mentions anything until the stream is done and all their words hang around them.

'You know you're always welcome over here,' Dream begins, as casual and light as they always are about it. 'I've got a room for you.'

George sighs, slumping in his chair. 'I'd like to come over.'

'We'd love to have you.' Sapnap turns on his camera too and makes a heart with his hands. George smiles. There’s still that unsteadiness in his eyes, but he makes a heart back.

Dream opens his phone, barely believing himself, and subtly takes a picture. If he squints, it almost looks like George is standing in his room.

He closes his phone again, shoves it deep into his pocket as if that’ll absolve his guilt, and throws himself into the conversation with all the fervor of a man with everything to hide. They all steer it away from the idea of George coming to America. 

‘I’m going to take a nap,’ he announces after the conversation has slowed. Sapnap yawns and mumbles something about Dream’s exhaustion catching.

‘I’m going to go get some food. Sleep well, Dreamie, you need it.’ He flashes a last heart sign at the camera and leaves.

Dream gets up to prop the window half-shut, enjoying the bracing cool wind on his face for one more moment. His recording room will be hot and dark without it, better for a quick nap.

The screen goes dark behind him as George turns off his camera. Dream doesn’t know how to ask for what he wants, but he doesn’t need to.

‘Do you want me to stay on call?’ George asks. 

‘Always,’ Dream jokes.

‘Alright, Dream.’ He can still hear him roll his eyes. ‘Maybe I’ll go to bed too.’

He focuses on the still, warm room instead of George. In bed. He's seen his bed before, on call. Blue and white and full of rumpled blankets. He imagines the stripes between the gaps of his fingers. He imagines George sleeping.

'Sorry about- _that_ ,' he says lowly, grimacing at how much he has to say sorry for. How sorry does he have to be when George played along, something whispers. He ignores it. 

'I don't mind you falling asleep. I can tell you're tired,' George says casually. Dream turns over and muffles a groan into his arm. This is- this is the easy route out, and he can't bear to speak about anything else.

'I didn't talk in my sleep, did I? Or snore?'

'No,' he says, with a light chuckle. 'You're a very polite sleeper.'

'Thanks.' Dream is caught by another yawn, jaw aching. 'I really didn't mean to.'

'It's fine. You can go back to sleep,' George says softly. Dream's skin is sticky with sweat. The fabric of his sweatshirt itches his neck. His chair feels cloud-soft.

'It's the middle of the day. I'll have a bad sleep schedule.'

‘I’ll wake you up in an hour or so. If you want. I might take a nap too.’

Dream glances at the red blinking numbers of his digital clock set five hours ahead. 'It's not late there for you.'

'You don't have to be on my schedule,' George says gently. In Dream's head, he can imagine him leaning against the phone in bed, the bundle of blankets muffling the outside world. Blue and white and dark eyelashes.

'I want to be awake with you.' Somehow, this quiet admittance is more intimate than any confession on stream.

The call echoes with soft static, the creaking of fabric, the ghost of George's breathing.

'I'd like that too.'

'Then let it happen.'

That gets him a startled little laugh that sends electricity up his spine. 'Okay,' he says. 

'Okay?' Dream grins. 'You'll allow it?'

'We could compromise. Meet halfway or something.' 

_It would be easier if you were here_. Dream shakes the thought away, and is cut off by another jaw-cracking yawn. Consciousness frays like cirrus clouds. ‘You don’t have to wake me up,’ he hears himself say. ‘I like being asleep on call with you. I have better dreams.’

***

Dream blinks himself up from the drifting waves unsure of what woke him, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, fingers tapping mindless, sleep-drunk patterns on the side of his chair. 

'Are you awake?' George asks softly, and Dream doesn't really register it, doesn't really respond, just blinks slowly at the black screen while the idea of George in America makes ripples in his hazy mind. There's the faintest green light glinting from the bulbs of his computer, and the digital clock glowing red and blurry on the side table. Otherwise, everything is dark and stiflingly hot and Dream doesn't think and doesn't talk. 

'Dream?' George asks again, a strange urgent note to his voice, and Dream finally struggles up from the fog.

'I'm here.'

George breathes out. He sounds- unsure, unsteady in the way he never is, and it scatters the last of his drowsiness like a cold wind.

‘I didn’t wake you up,’ he says. ‘I should have.’

‘I don’t mind.’

When George speaks it feels like all his tension is spilling out like a waterfall. ‘Were you serious today? Could I come stay with you one day?’

Dream doesn't need to think to respond. It's instinct, like the words were already waiting on his tongue, as soon as he woke. 'I'm being honest. I’m here for you. You can come stay any time.'

George is quiet. There's static on his end. 

'George?' 

'Thanks,' he says. 'I know it's a lot to ask.'

'I mean it.' Dream tilts his head towards the microphone, still dizzy. The fan circles. The words fill up his head and spill out without thought or restraint. 'I have a room for you here. If you ever need anything, you can just ask me.'

'I know.' George winces. 'I mean-'

'No, it's fine. I know what you mean.' It makes him warm, that George can trust him that way. 

'Thanks.'

'Any time.' He leans his head back on his chair. The room is perfectly dark, lit only by the fuzzy electric lights. He squints at the red digital numbers of the clock he's set to England's time. It's past five AM there.

'George, have you been up this whole time?'

'I couldn't sleep.'

Dream sits up, his computer glowing to life. He hovers over the end call button. 'Go to sleep, okay? I'll call you again tomorrow.'

'Stay on call with me,' George whispers. 'Please.'

Dream doesn't hesitate. 'Of course.'

His chair squeaks as he gets up. 'I should- I'm going to get into bed.'

This isn't the first time one of them has stayed up until morning in front of their computers, and it won't be the last. Dream presses his phone closer to his ear and listens. Water rushes in the bathroom. Fabric rustles. A door is closed before George is back, the bed creaking as he settles in. 

'The bed's always so cold,' he mutters, and Dream bites down on the thought before it can blush into hot being- _I could make that better_.

He doesn't know where that came from. It's the kind of thing he would say on someone else's stream to see George roll his eyes and fight a smile, not something he'd dare to say in the dark.

'Mine is too.' He tries to remember his own bedroom, his own sheets, anything but the vibrant soundscape of George wrapping himself in his blankets and giving himself up to sleep. 'I think I left the window open.'

'Are you in bed too?'

'No. Not yet.' His mouth is dry and his voice rough no matter how much he swallows. The heat is like honey on his tongue, making him carelessly sweet. 'Don't wanna fall asleep yet. I'm staying right here.'

He's slept on call with people before, but never like this. This time, he's wide awake, guarding against the dark and the unsteadiness in George's voice as he falls asleep. It comes in breaths, in waves, soft ripples in the dark. Dream listens to his breathing stir the warm air. The numbers slide past on the red digital clock. His bedroom will be cool, windows open to catch the breeze, better than this cramped, hot chair, but Dream couldn't fathom moving yet, of doing anything but staying as George falls slowly into dreamland. 

'Thank you,' George whispers, soft as memory. His voice is hoarse. Dream's throat feels thick. He can imagine George falling asleep, hair haloed against the dark blue sheets of Dream's bed. He can imagine himself brushing his hair from his forehead. Staying by him. 

His heart is loud in his ears. In the dark, he wants to be right beside him, feel his warmth through more than voice.

'Go to sleep,' he urges. 'I'm right here.'

'I know.' Dream doesn't think George was aware of those last words. He doesn't mention them.

He becomes aware of something strangely vulnerable. He knows the pattern of his breathing from a thousand times falling asleep on call with him, more familiar than his own heartbeat, and it winds up his veins and through his head. George is the one falling asleep, and Dream is the one falling deep into their call and the softest sounds of him.

It's past two in the morning before he finally moves, eyes aching, body stiff, every inch of him heavy with heat, stumbling to the bathroom to gulp down ice water. His hair is sticking to his forehead and his eyes are red and wide in the mirror. The light of the moon is soft and indistinct. There are shadows in his vision where the clock glowed. In the dark, George felt like he was all around him.

Dream falls into bed with the window still open and sleeps, cold wind in his hair, head full of heat, dreaming of George's voice shimmering in the dark.

He leaves his phone next to his bed, so when it dings it pulls him from sleep like a firecracker, and he scrabbles at the sheets, heart pounding, sweat pooling in the small of his back. The glow of the phone is too bright in his eyes, and for a second he thinks it's the melting sun of his dream on pale skin, red and pink and honey-gold. The details blur and become indefinable the moment he reaches for them. 

It's a message from George.

_i think i want to come to america_

He still can't catch his breath. All their teasing words and suggestions and all the dreams he's had about George in his life come flooding in, filling his mind. He wants it like he's never wanted anything, and it scares and enthralls him. He wants George here, in his moonlit bedroom.

The clock shows past one. Dream types carefully, slowly.

_id like that_

George starts typing back immediately. Dream watches the bubbles rise and fall.

_:) well call sap later to talk more abt it?_

_in the morning_ , Dream writes. _go to sleep_.

_you too_.

The bubble hovers for a while. 

_did you have a good dream?_

_Only when I'm with you_ , he thinks, but he doesn't type it. He holds the confused tangle of his fading dream back behind his teeth where it can't complicate things.

_youre stalling. go to bed._

George starts typing again and Dream adds one last message. Pink and gold dance in the dark behind his eyelids. 

_i did_

_:)_ George says. _thought so. goodnight!_

  
_Thought so._ Dream leans back, the wind playing in his hair. George is going to ruin him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe there aren't more Roadtrip-inspired fics.
> 
> Credit to my American friends who help me with what America is like.
> 
> -1050


End file.
